With a plop, Windston fell into a torrent of freezing water. Dim light quickly faded into darkness as he struggled to reemerge in what was a rushing river deep underground. The only light came from his sword, which he clung to with an iron grip. In this fashion, he drifted, on and on and on, for hours, desperately reaching here or swimming there in fruitless attempts to grab slippery roots, ledges, or shores as the current dragged him past.

  Eventually, the water slowed, and he found himself in an endless pool beneath faintly growing crystals protruding high from the ceiling overhead. There was still the roar of rushing water, but it was far off now. Here, there was only a light current that drifted endlessly north.

  He bobbed and drank.

  He bobbed and peed.

  After a while, he heard splashing and looked over his shoulder. A ways off behind him, drifting face-up and backwards, was Frem. At least, he hoped it was Frem.

  “Who goes there?” he shouted.

  “It's me, you idiot,” Frem said.

  Windston smiled. “Good. But I think we're screwed.”

  “We definitely are,” Frem said. “But I don't know for how long. I might be able to shoot our way out. At least, I feel like I could possibly strike the nerve to try if I get desperate enough.”

  The two of them hurried toward one another, Frem backstroking north, Windston free-styling south – which really only slowed his northerly drift.

  Reunited, they faced one another, treading water.

  “That was crazy,” Frem said.

  “It was.”

  “That green light cut through the ground like it was nothing. You know, I'd kill to be able to shoot something like that out of my hands.”

  “Me too,” said Windston. “It cut us right into hell.”

  “Exactly,” Frem said. “Only, no fire, just water.”

  “Luckily,” Windston said. “And it's good water, too.”

  “Very good,” Frem said. “But we can't live off nothing but water. We're gonna have to get out of here.”

  They paddled first more northward, and then westward when they noticed what looked like a slope of rock along a wall of stone directly west. It was a smooth shore of dusty gray rock, and it stretched out of the mouth of a cave in that western wall.

  “What luck,” Frem said.

  “Yeah,” Windston agreed. “Only, we don't know where it goes.”

  “There's only one way to find out.”

  As it turned out, it went westward, and then upward. It was a perfectly round hole, like one dug out by a perfectly round worm. Its surface was rough on all sides, but not jagged; and it was rigid where ribbed, so that, when going upward, one could grip ledges with his fingers, and kick off other ledges with his feet, which made for a difficult, but manageable, climb.

  The cave did seem to rise directly upward nearly endlessly, however. Despite their fitness, they found themselves ready to be done climbing far sooner than the climb's end.

  Finally, the cave curved back westward, and went that way for some time until they found themselves in another cavern, this one much smaller than the one before, but also much brighter.

  Dimly glowing crystals of razor sharp spines coned out from the ceilings of this cavern too. In some places, the walls and ceilings were smooth and bare. But mostly, the lighted cones spread out in abundance.

  Also, the ground was smooth and flat. And there were even the remnants of a ladder that dangled from an opening above, and a track that led northward and upward along a rising slope.

  “This was a mine,” Frem said.

  Windston nodded. He could see Frem's face dimly in the light of both his sword and Frem’s hands.

  “That means we might be close to an exit.”

  “Or a person,” Windston said.

  Just as he mentioned a person, Frem stopped dead in his tracks.

  “What is it?”

  “Shh!” Frem shushed. “Can you not hear that?”

  There was a brief pause during which Windston stopped breathing and listened. “No,” he finally admitted.

  “Are you deaf? There!” he said, pointing ahead. “There it is again!”

  “What?” Windston asked, but Frem was jogging ahead, his hands brighter than before.

  “Hulloo!” he shouted. “Can you hear me?”

  There was an echo, and then a very distinctly different reply. It was a long and drawn out yelling, a bereaved call of agony and despair.

  “We're coming!” Frem yelled.

  “I been stuck so long!” the voice called back very clearly, yet still so far away.

  “We're here to help!” Frem said. “No worries. No-”

  He stopped abruptly and held out his arms as to catch Windston, who simply stopped on his own.

  There was a hole in the ground and, far beneath, lit by Frem's hands, what looked like a head, and only a head. It was dark and sooty, with black hair and a black beard, and it seemed to be growing out from a jutting rock at the bottom of the hole.

  “Are you okay?” Frem asked.

  “Are you just a head?” Windston added.

  “I am not hurt,” the head boomed with an accent thick and foreign. “But not for my pride,” he said, “and my empty stomach.”

  “We're hungry too,” Frem said.

  “What I wouldn't give for a bite,” the head said. “But I am stuck,” he said, wiggling back and forth, squirming and panting. “I am afraid I am too big for this hole.”

  “You're stuck in a hole?” Frem asked.

  The head nodded.

  Frem paused, and then he aimed his hands downward and lit them even brighter.

  There, down below, in Frem’s trembling light, was a very dark, very handsome head.

  “If somebody could come down and pull me,” the head said. “I might break free.”

  “I'll try,” Windston said.

  “Somebody strong. A man. Maybe more than one.”

  “Hey, I'm strong,” Windston said.

  He jumped down. It was all jagged rock and stones. From there, he could see the neck and shoulders that went with the head, and they were massive. It looked like someone had stuffed a giant in a tiny little hole of sharp rocks. Actually, that was almost the case; the giant had stuffed himself in there from the other way. His shoulders were as round as his head, and his biceps nearly matched the size of either. But the giant was crammed in there so that he couldn't even free his hands.

  “I'm gonna grab your head,” Windston said.

  “Please, yes do,” the man begged.

  “And pull,” Windston said, pulling.

  “Yes, pull.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “I am.”

  “One. Two. Three.” Windston yanked really hard, and the man slid out to the sound of breaking rock and popping bones.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The man lay there, almost too huge to stand. His hands were massive, easily big enough to wrap around a man's skull and crush it in his palms. And his feet were in massive boots that looked more like boxes from certain angles due to their size.

  “Wait!” Frem yelled. “I forgot to ask him if he's gonna try to eat us. Are you gonna try to eat us?”

  The man's face fell suddenly desperate. “No!” he yelled. “I would never eat a young girl or boy like you.”

  “I'm a boy!” Frem yelled.

  “I'm sorry,” the man said. “It is difficult to see, and your voice is very high.”

  “You're a giant, aren't you?” Windston asked.

  “No,” the man said. “I am giant for a man, yes. But I am no giant. I am a giant hunter. That is, I hunt a giant from the west called Boulder. This is how I find myself here beneath these foreign lands.”

  “How do we know you're not lying?” Frem asked.

  “Believe me, and I'll give you much gold,” the man said.

  “Much gold?” Frem asked. “How much?”

  The man lifted a sack and opened it. Its contents shimmered and sparkled. “Gold and gems I have. But no food, and no light deep beneath the earth under no man's land.”

  “Is there more?” Frem asked.

  “There is more that I have left abandoned, but it is many leagues east, I'm afraid. And it is perilous to venture there. I would dare not.”

  “Fine,” Frem said. “I'll lower a rope to my squire to you to fetch you up.”

  “Your what?” Windston asked.

  Frem chuckled, but he was digging around in the bigger of his two bags, the one he kept the smaller one in, which he kept on his back.

  From within it, he pulled out a cord of rope. “Here,” he said, lowering an end down.

  Windston climbed up first in fear that the giant would be too heavy for the rope. He was insanely heavy, but the rope managed. He looked well over five-hundred pounds, closer to six. In fact, he was much heavier than that. The ground was sandy, slippery, treacherous even where it wasn't altogether wet.

  The boys pulled and tugged, and then they found a taller bit of rock and used it as leverage.

  With time, and a lot of grunting, the man was up at their level.

  But he barely fit.

  He was nearly eight feet tall from heel to head, and stocky. Still, there wasn't an ounce of fat on him. His muscles were like the rocks all around, and veins bulged from them, even after he had caught his breath and relaxed.

  “Thank you,” he said, gripping his hands together. “You have saved me, perhaps.”

  “Perhaps?” Frem asked.

  “Yes,” the man said. “We are still beneath the ground. We may yet die.”

  “We won't,” Windston said. “I just know it.”

  “I hope this is true,” the man said. “Here,” he said, holding out a massive hand with fingers as big around as the bottom of a drinking glass. “I am Urumobombo of the grasslands far east beyond the desert wilds. Saria, it is called. And Bombo, you can call me. I am at your service.”

  “Windston,” Windston said. “I'm from Zephyr. And this is Frem.”

  “I'm a dragoon,” Frem said, “from east and north of that same desert east.”

  “Ah,” the man said. “I have heard of these dragon-folk. But they are like faeries, and goblins, and other gobbly-gook,” he chuckled.

  Frem scowled. “And I've heard of the black men south of my land who live in caves and drink camel piss.”

  Bombo laughed. “Caves? No. Huts, maybe. Nomads, maybe. Spare few. My people are proud and well-tempered. We live in white sandstone cities with gold-topped towers of white stone. Our furniture is ivory and ebony, and our feather beds are fitted with silk sheets and velvet blankets. We drink the finest wine and the clearest water.”

  Frem scoffed at that. “That's not what I've heard.”

  “Then listen again. Or don't at all. It is no matter to me. Fine, I am this caveman,” he laughed. “For aren't we all here in caves now? But heed my words on this matter: whether I fight for those in caves who drink piss or not, I seek to kill a giant man by the name of Boulder. If he is your ally, you will be smashed. This, I promise. This, you can believe.”

  Windston smiled. “Or maybe we'll throw you back in the hole.”

  Bombo laughed louder. “Maybe. Two boys might try. But hey: this is crazy how you lift me out. I am so heavy. And you are so small,” he said, looking at their arms.

  “We're super kids,” Windston started to say, but Frem hit him lightly in the chest and gestured for the two of them to follow him.

  They did follow him, Windston at a relaxed pace, Bombo ducking here and crawling there.

  They continued on for about five-hundred yards, and then the two saw what it was Frem had been heading toward.

  There was a shaft of light that shone downward at an angle through a triangular gash in the rocky wall.

  Through the light, they winced upward and, to their relief, saw a climb leading to what was very much an exit. It led to an opening even Bombo could fit through, on a ledge over Rat Road, Old Rat Road.

  “This is good news,” Bombo said, emerging into the light.

  The two boys, who were on either side of him, craned their necks to look up at him. He was a marvel at his full height. He was all of eight feet tall in those monstrous boots, and massive all over. His pants were torn up to the knees, and his shirt was a ripped vest. The boots he wore were leather, and his wrists were clasped in gold bracelets. He stood tall with a straight back, and his chin he held high as he admired the landscape stretched all about. “Flowers and flowers and flowers – no leaves,” he said. “This is good. This is where I mean to be.”

  “Bombo,” Windston said.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you as strong as you look?”

  Bombo chuckled a quick breath through his nose. “Are the clouds gray? Is the rain wet? Are lions proud?” He flexed his chest, his muscles bouncing up again and again.

  Windston considered this question for a moment. “I think so,” he said. “But I don't really know about lions.”

  “They're proud,” Frem said, suddenly bored. “They're like... pointless dragons, I guess. Big kitty cats with hairstyles.”

  Bombo laughed until his eyes welled. “You have a mouth, little blue boy.”

  “Well,” Windston said, “I might not look like it, but I bet I'm stronger than you.”

  “Do you think so?” Bombo asked.

  Windston nodded.

  “You don't look very strong to me,” Bombo said, considering. “But some people who are strong do not look this way.”

  “He's strong,” said Frem. “Even stronger than me. And I'm strong. Probably stronger than you.”

  Bombo laughed again. “I was a boy once too, and I was strong. Only now...” He paused, staring at a tree down to their left, at the end of a slope that dropped to ground more or less level with Rat Road. “I am maybe stronger. Let us see.”

  He lumbered down the slope, slowly, carefully, as if his body ached, most especially his feet.

  At the edge of the woods, he stood beside a medium sized tree. It was taller than him, of course, and almost as broad at the base of its trunk.

  “This is a big tree to pull, no?” He called back to the boys, who stood at the cave face, watching through the rain.

  Windston nodded. His heart was racing. He couldn't wait to see what Bombo was going to do.

  “But watch this,” Bombo said, turning and facing the tree, looking it first up, then down. “I grab it,” he said, wrapping his massive arms around the trunk and clasping them at the wrists. “I squat,” he said. And then he groaned, and groaned, and groaned as he pulled, and stood, and pushed. The tree, a towering oak, rose upward, and then came crashing down onto Bombo’s massive shoulder. He turned, the whole tree swiveling with him, and showed the boys his white tree with blue flowers and muddy, earthy, twisted roots.

  “You see, boys,” he said, chuckling. “Bombo is so strong.” He dropped the tree and tapped it, muttering, “We plant you back after a break.”

  The boys both raced down the slope after Bombo, hopping and skipping. They examined the tree, which he presently used as a makeshift bench, to make sure there was no funny business.

  “That is pretty strong,” Windston admitted.

  “Yes,” Bombo said. “Strong,” he said, nodding. “Are you this strong?”

  “Stronger!” Windston yelled suddenly, his face to the sky, his arms pulled back, his body tensed. He leapt from the grassy ground and smashed head-first into a nearby pine tree with bright yellow needles. It splintered and doubled over, cracking and whining as it fell, and lay beside the remainder of its trunk, which still stood twelve feet up.

  “No, no, no!” Bombo protested, standing. “Not breaking trees!” he said.

  Frem laughed. “Oh yeah?” he said, leaping up into the air and readying an attack.

  Just as quickly as he rose, he plummeted; Bombo had leapt after him and grabbed his ankle.

  Frem grimaced and looked down at Bombo, confused.

  “We're not shooting trees today,” Bombo warned before letting go.

  Frem fell at Bombo’s side. By the time Windston got to him to check up on him, Frem was sucking up air between his teeth, which made a hiss.

  Windston laughed.

  “It's not funny,” Frem said. “I could feel the bones in my ankles touching!”

  Windston laughed again.

  Bombo frowned. “Maybe I squeeze too hard,” he said.

  “Maybe?” Frem asked.

  “Do it to me,” Windston said, holding out his arm to Bombo.

  “No,” Bombo said. “Wait,” he said. He turned and scratched his head, looking at the tree he had plucked, which lay defeated on its side. There, he stood, simply staring.

  “I maybe make a mistake,” he finally said.

  “What?” Windston asked. Frem didn't care; his back was turned to both of them.

  “I maybe need help to lift this poor baby upright again. Because, you see, I can lift with a squat when it stands. But maybe I cannot pull it back up as it lay.”

  “I'll help,” Windston said.

  “Good,” Bombo said, smiling. “This is good. Let us try,” he said.

  But before Windston could even figure out where to lift, Bombo had stood the tree upright. He presently swiveled it left and right, and it sunk lower and lower into the ground until all the roots were buried.

  “There, isn't that-”

  Before he could finish, there was a loud explosion. Both Windston and Bombo cowered as the tree exploded in bits in what was a flaming mess of Frem's rage.

  Frem laughed.

  And laughed.

  And laughed.

  When he was finished, he glared menacingly at Bombo, his lips parted in a challenging smirk. Bombo stared back for a moment. And then he did the unthinkable.

  In a flash, he leapt forward, snatched Frem by the waist in his left hand, and spanked his butt with his right.

  Over.

  And over.

  And over again.

  Frem cried out in pain while Windston watched, teeth gritted, eyes wide, unsure of what to do.

  When the beating was over, Bombo dropped Frem and leapt backward, where he stood ready.

  But Frem didn't attack. In fact, he only sat. He sat there, fuming, staring, while Windston laughed and laughed and laughed.

  Bombo laughed too. And then Frem did as well, but only just a little bit. When he stood, eyes teary, he wiped his nose with his fist, and then released all hell. Bombo and Windston ran away as fast as they could, eyes wide with horror as the forest exploded behind them to the cackles of Frem's psychotic laugh.

  The chase lasted nearly an hour. When it was over, the three of them made peace at a spring, where they swam in their clothes to rid themselves of mud.

  Soot fell. The forest roared a raging flame where they'd been. But no one cared. They were all alive, soothing themselves in a cold spring, thinking to themselves what it was they would do next.

  After their bath, they headed north. They continued just off the road, down a clear walking path that more or less hopped from pool to pool, stream to stream.

  By nightfall, they had found a deserted barn to crash in. It was dry, and a bit of hay they found inside was soft. More importantly, though, was that it was away from the road, and there weren't a bunch of man-eating worms around.

  In fact, there weren't a bunch of man-eating anythings around. There weren't even any men aside from Bombo. The road was deserted as far north as they could walk in a week, but they didn't know that yet. They only knew they needed to hide (the boys had told Bombo all about their day before their excursion), and they needed a nice place to rest.

  The other troubles of what to eat and where to find it could wait till later. In fact, the only concern mentioned, and by Frem, was when Bombo could repay them for his rescue.

  “You showed us your gold,” Frem said. “So, let's have it.”

  “Soon.”

  “Or maybe now,” Frem said.

  “No,” Bombo said. “I do not feel right giving boy like you gold. You get, but I buy.”

  “Lame,” Frem said.

  Windston didn't say anything. Actually, unlike Frem, he liked having Bombo around. He was really fast and really strong, just like them. No, he wasn't a kid. But he was definitely super. And maybe he would level out some of Frem's crazy?